The Gypsy's Curse
by Silvertongue90
Summary: Shrewsbury is in an uproar when two dead bodies are found and all the evidence points to Conan, a gypsy with a hot temper. Cadfael is not so sure that it is the boy who committed the murders and does a little bit of investigating on his own.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: The Gypsy's Curse**

**Based on the books by Ellis Peters and the TV show.**

* * *

><p>Chapter One<p>

The warm July air clung to everyone in Shrewsbury as they went about their daily business. There was a slight breeze, but not enough to cool everyone down. The earth was dry and the grass had turned a golden brown color. It was as normal a day as anyone had seen and it would have remained normal if not for the gypsy family coming into the village. Many of the folks stopped in their tracks and gazed at the passing cart with hate. They hoped the family was just passing by as they did not want their kind around.

There was a man and a woman in the front, driving the team of horses. The man, slightly balding with curly black hair, had an indifferent stare and he looked straight ahead, not giving anyone a passing glance. The woman beside him kept scanning the villagers nervously and she had some of her skirt bunched into her fist. She had an odd habit of twitching her left shoulder and did not look quite right in the head. Pots and pans, hanging from the cart, clanged together creating a loud noise as they were jostled by the movement of the dark bays leading it. Inside the cart were many fine trinkets and among them, peering out, was a young man and girl.

By the look of them any could tell that they were brother and sister. The young man was handsome and had blond curly hair. The girl's hair was just as blond, but straighter. She too was pretty, though not yet in full bloom. If one bothered to look closely, and many of the villagers did, there was one obvious difference in their appearance. The girl, hardly fourteen, smiled at the villagers and waved broadly. She looked extremely happy and did not seem to be bothered by the rude stares of the townspeople. The young man merely scowled back at them as if daring them to do something.

Murmurs could be heard among the people. "Filthy scum."

"Thieves! Now we shall have to watch our valuables more closely."

"Mark my words, there will be a string of crimes around here if they stay."

"We should run them out of town."

The gypsy man stopped the cart and hopped down. Helping his wife step off the cart he hissed quietly in the back, "Conan, I expect you to behave here."

Conan gave him a sullen look. "Yes Father." The young man helped his sister down and would have taken off to look at some of the shops to see if he could find a shoemaker to repair his worn out shoes, but his father grabbed him from behind. He had a fistful of his shirt and some of his skin. "I mean it Conan," Omar whispered. "I don't want anything to happen that will make us leave in the dead of night."

Conan jerked away and stalked off down the road. The villagers parted, letting him pass in peace. Omar moved closer and began bringing out his wares to sell to the villagers. He was very much aware that it would be a tough crowd, but he hoped that they would be a little more receptive than the last village they passed because business was a bit slow.

He was just talking to a nice elderly woman about one of his pots when a middle aged man shouldered his way through the crowd, flanked by two men. "I'm Sheriff Beringer. We don't want any trouble here."

"I don't want any trouble either," Omar answered evenly. "I'm an honest trader. We'll be out of here after trading some of our wares."

The Sheriff glanced at Omar and let his eyes roam the cart before nodding stiffly. "See that you stay out of trouble. We have laws here and I expect you to live by them.

"Yes sir," Omar said respectively. After giving Omar one finally departing glance he moved back the way he came toward the Abby.

* * *

><p>"I have made more poppy juice as you have asked, Brother Cadfael," Brother Oswin had finished pouring it in a bottle and held it out for the monk.<p>

"Thank you, Oswin. Now, um, could you get started—" _Crash! _Cadfael stared at the broken bottle on his work table. The poppy juice was already spreading toward his various other herbs. "Hurry Oswin, clean it up!" Cadfael grabbed some rags and began mopping up the mess.

Oswin, in his haste to get more rags, knocked over some sage and it fell into the pot of Coltsfoot. "Oh, Brother Cadfael! I'm sorry!"

"Never mind that," Cadfael snapped irritably. "Just stand right there and don't move." He tried to save the sage, but most of it had already melted into the pot. Now he would have to start anew. He cleaned up the rest of the poppy juice spill and sighed heavily through his nose.

When he turned to face Oswin he almost laughed. The younger man looked scared and he stood frozen in place. He almost seemed to not be breathing. Cadfael couldn't help feeling sorry for him. Yes, Oswin was clumsy but at least he meant well. "Make the poppy juice again and try not to break anything this time."

"Yes, Brother Cadfael." Oswin moved forward, being very careful where he put his large hands. Cadfael heard the shuffle of feet behind him and turned to look at the door. His friend, Hugh Beringer stood in the doorway, his hand resting lightly on the pommel of his sword.

"Ah Hugh! Come in."

Hugh moved closer and surveyed their work. He saw Brother Oswin with his usual wide eyes and stooped shoulders toiling at his current task. He did not miss the fact that Oswin kept glancing at Cadfael with an almost fearful contrite look. A smile tugged at his lips that he did not permit to pass. Apparently he had just missed another one of Oswin's accidents. He would never admit it to Cadfael, but he found it extremely amusing to witness such occasions.

"What can I do for you, Hugh?" Cadfael asked.

"I want you to keep an eye on things for me."

"What kind of things?"

"A gypsy family has come to Shrewsbury and are selling their wares to the villagers. You know that wherever gypsies go, trouble follows."

"Well, I wouldn't say that," Cadfael said. "Not all gypsies are thieves and vagabonds. Some make an honest living. It sounds like this family is certainly trying to."

"I warned them to behave, but I want to make sure they do."

Cadfael searched Hugh's face closely. "Are you saying you want me to prevent a crime before it happens?" he laughed. "That would be impossible and there is always the possibility that nothing will happen."

"Something always happens when they are around."

"That's your prejudice talking."

"Is it?"

"Well, you can't really believe that all gypsies are bad."

"I can and I do," Hugh informed him coldly. "Trouble is brewing. So, don't be surprised if I have need of you to solve a crime." Hugh left, leaving the two brothers alone once more.

"Brother Cadfael," Oswin said timidly. "Do you really think gypsies aren't all bad? Brother Jerome certainly thinks so." Cadfael did not say aloud what he thought of Jerome's way of thinking.

"I imagine there are some gypsies who steal and murder, but not all. I have met many gypsies in my life time and most of them are honest traders who make a living going from village to village to sell their supplies."

"How do you know these gypsies won't steal while they are in Shrewsbury?"

Cadfael glanced at him in surprise. "I don't know that they won't steal, but I do know we shouldn't suspect them of a crime that hasn't even happened."

"But if gypsies have a reputation for stealing shouldn't we keep a close watch on them?"

Cadfael sighed and looked up from stirring the Coltsfoot. "No, Oswin, we shouldn't suspect them of stealing or murdering, because they are people like us. We should treat them as such. Gypsies aren't the only ones who steal. Does that mean we should suspect everyone in Shrewsbury of being up to no good?"

"We might have to," Oswin said earnestly. "Since I've arrived there has been a string of murders." Cadfael chuckled.

"I suppose that means we should suspect you then, eh?" Cadfael pretended to grow stern. "After all, as you said since you arrived there have been several murders." At first Oswin didn't seem to understand what he was implicating and frowned in thought. Then his eyes widened and he sputtered incoherently.

"Brother Cadfael! I would never—"

Cadfael threw back his head and laughed.

* * *

><p>"What do you want gypsy?" Horace, the Shoemaker glowered at Conan.<p>

The young man bristled at his tone, but struggled to keep control of his tongue. He hated it when everyone looked down on him for being a gypsy. He used to correct them and say he was a trader. They never listened.

"My shoes have worn thin," he took one off to show him the sole. Three large holes decorated the bottom and the Shoemaker saw bits of paper through the holes to keep the pebbles out. "I have money," Conan hurried to say before the man could tell him he didn't serve their kind. "I'm willing to pay." He produced five shillings. "Will this suffice?" Conan knew that new shoes cost less than this, but one thing he learned that no matter the race, money talks.

Horace examined the coins and bit them to test if they were real. "Yes, I believe this will be enough. Let me measure your feet. I'll have the shoes done tomorrow."

Conan nodded. He let the Shoemaker measure his feet and went on his way to the square. Omar, his father, had a small crowd gathered around him. They listened with rapt attention. That was a gift Omar had. No matter his appearance, he could convince a monk to buy what they considered worldly goods. Conan was not so good with relating to people. Every time he tried he end up fighting them.

Movement out of the corner of his eye caught Conan's attention. He turned his head. The door to the Abbey opened and out stepped two pious looking monks. One was tall and old with many wrinkles on his face. His hair was grayish white and had very little of it. He strode forward with grace and dignity that could only mark him as an Englishman or a Norman. The other was shorter and younger. His nose was stuck so high in the air, Conan thought it was a miracle that he didn't drown when it rained. His hair was curly and as they walked closer, he could see the tonsure on the crown of his head.

The younger monk graced him with a look of distained, before shoving his way to the front of the assembly. "St. Peter's Fair has been over for a fortnight," he said in a loud voice. "Gypsies are not allowed to sell their wares until then."

"We're honest traders, Brother," Omar answered respectfully. "I don't know anything about a St. Peter's Fair. We make our living going from village to village."

"Non the less, you are not permitted to sell in front of the Abbey. Take your goods away from here toward St. Giles. If the townspeople wish to trade with you, then they may do so there," the older monk said. Both of them turned and walked away back to the Abbey. Omar followed them.

"May I speak with the Abbot of this matter?"

Conan found it amusing to watch the old monk sputter. "Abbot Radulfus is in prayer right now."

"Then I will wait for him to finish," Omar said calmly. Both monks huffed, but said no more. Omar followed them into the Abbey. Leaving Conan to watch over his sister and mother. Conan packed the pots and pans away since they couldn't sell anything until Omar talked with the Abbot. He hated them. All priests and monks were the same. He already knew that this Abbot Radulfus would forbid them from selling inside Shrewsbury. Conan didn't know why his father even bothered asking for an audience.

His sister touched his arm lightly. "Smile, Conan," she said. "You'll scare our potential customers away."

Conan scowled and brushed Annabel's hand away. Though not roughly. "You are a dreamer like Father. We will be driven from this town like we were the last one."

Annabel laughed lightly. "We weren't driven away, brother. Father left after you got in another fight. He didn't want—" She stopped, unwilling to continue. Conan nodded grimly. He knew what she was about to say.

"I'm innocent Annabel, you know that."

Annabel covered Conan's hand with her own. "I believe you, but you have to see it from our father's view."

"I know all too well Father's views of me."

"He loves you, Conan." Conan did not say anything in reply. He left Annabel standing by the cart to check on his mother, who had wandered off to watch the blacksmith working.

* * *

><p>Abbot Radulfus was not in prayer, but writing a letter to a fellow Abbot in Canterbury. He had a monk that needed quiet meditation and the Abbey in Shrewsbury sound like the perfect place for him. Abbot Radulfus was replying to the Abbot's previous message to tell him they would welcome the new brother with open arms. He wondered why the monk needed to be in a small village, but thought it impolite to ask for details. He would learn soon enough.<p>

A knock resounded at the door. Before he could bade the person to enter, the door opened and the first face he saw was that of a disgruntled Prior Robert. His clerk and alley in everything, Brother Jerome soon entered after him. Abbot Radulfus half expected Brother Cadfael to come in last and for the other two monks to complain about something else the adventurous brother had done. Instead, a middle aged man came in after them and stood with his cap in his hands. The man had a bushy beard and a mop of receding dark curly hair. He nodded respectfully at the Abbot, but carried his head with a proud air. At first glance Abbot Radulfus decided he liked the man. He looked like the honest sort.

"Brother Prior, Brother Jerome," he greeted the often troublesome monks with a nod. To the man he said, "I am Abbot Radulfus."

"I am Omar. I have come to obtain your permission to trade my wares in Shrewsbury for a few days."

"He's a gypsy!" Brother Jerome spat out. "We can not allow gypsies to sell in Shrewsbury. We have told him he could sell near St. Giles."

"Begging your pardon, Father Abbot for intruding, I am an honest trader. My mother was a gypsy, but my father was a Welsh soldier from the Crusades."

"A gypsy and a bastard son," Prior Robert said with finality. The look of disgust plain on features.

Abbot Radulfus did his best not to sigh out loud. He really was not in the mood to settle a dispute. He leaned forward and stared at Omar. He was usually a good judge of character and he was sure he could trust the trader. "I will give you permission to sell in Shrewsbury for two days. After that, I expect you to be on your way."

"Father Abbot—" Prior Robert started to protest. Abbot Radulfus raised his hand to silence him.

"Two days," he said firmly.

"Thank you Father Abbot." Omar inclined his head and hurried out of the room before the monk could change his mind.

"Abbot Radulfus," Prior Robert said. "It is against the law for gypsies to sell in Shrewsbury except on St. Peter's Fair."

"He said he wasn't a gypsy. He claims to be a trader."

"His mother was a gypsy!"

"And his father a Welsh soldier in the Crusades," he replied. "I have been informed by Brother Cadfael that there are no bastards in Wales. Because his father was Welsh that is what he is and I will have no further discussion about this." He picked up his quill pen again and dipped it in the ink. Prior Robert and Brother Jerome looked at each other, and then departed.

* * *

><p>Omar collected his family and continued selling his wares. He had had a good feeling about Abbot Radulfus the moment he laid eyes on him. The monk had an honest and strangely curious look about him. He had also looked like he was extremely busy and wanted to end the confrontation quickly, but Omar wasn't going to complain. He cast a glance at his unruly son as he slumped against the cart. If only he could make sure Conan behaved, then the Abbot would have no reason to regret allowing them to stay.<p>

Conan caught his father's meaningful look and glared back at him. He pushed off the cart and murmured to his sister that he was going to explore and ran off toward the edge of town and to St. Giles. He passed a tree with low hanging branches and snapped off one of them, peeling the bark as he walked. He had long gave up trying to make his father like him and he really did try staying out of trouble, but it always followed him like a plague.

The road forked before him and he stopped to consider where he would go next. A crude wooden sign with badly painted letters told him that if he went to the right he would go to St. Giles Leper Hospital. On the left was the Abbey Mill.

Not wishing to talk to any lepers, Conan chose to go left and followed the long narrow river toward the mill. Once the branch he carried was stripped of its bark, he ran his slim fingers around the smooth wood. He wished he hadn't lost his carving knife at the last village as his fingers felt the urge to carve. He was quite good at his hands even if he did say so himself.

Conan did not pay much attention to his surroundings. He knew at some point he had passed the mill and when he glanced up at the sky noticing how dark it was getting, he thought he better head back as he didn't know if Shrewsbury had a curfew.

When he came to the fork in the road it was too dark to see the signs and he couldn't remember which way he had come from. As he stood there wishing the moon would come out from behind the clouds he suddenly realized he was not alone. "Who's there?" he asked struggling to keep his voice calm.

"Who's there?" came the sniggering reply. Conan found himself surrounded by two big boys. They carried lanterns and the light cast off their faces giving them an eerie ghost like appearance.

"Very stupid of the gypsy boy to wander on his own," sneered the tallest and obviously the leader of the two.

"Very," the other agreed and Conan realized he was the one who had mocked him.

"I suppose its our solemn duty to teach him a lesson. What do you think, Alan?" the tall one asked.

"Definitly," Alan agreed eagerly. He pushed Conan who immediately retaliated and punched the boy in the face. He held his nose and regarded him with wild angry eyes. "You're going to pay for that," he hissed.

Alan moved forward and ducked as Conan swung his arm again and successfully trapped his arms behind his back. The other boy punched him hard in the stomach knocking the wind out of him. The next blow landed on his face and Conan screamed at them in rage and then his mouth was muffled by Alan's hand.

* * *

><p>Cadfael was walking back to the Abbey at a hurried pace. It was well past midnight and the herbs he had brewed for the lepers at St. Giles had taken longer to distribute than he thought. He could imagine Prior Robert or his clerk, Jerome waiting impatiently by the door to let him in and remind him what time it was. He grimaced at the thought and picked up his pace.<p>

Suddenly his keen ears detected the sound of scuffling and a scream pierced the air that was quickly muffled. Cadfael ran, hoping what ever poor soul was being tortured did not meet their demise before he could get there.

The scene he witnessed was enough to make his Welsh blood boil in wrath. He instantly recognized Alan and Gawain, the sons of the local blacksmith, beating on a young man that he did not know, but surmised he was one of the traders who had come to the village.

Cadfael rushed up to them and pushed Gawain away. "Stop!" he yelled angrily. The brothers froze as they recognized the monk, then hastily took off. Cadfael knelt and examined the boy, observing that he appeared to be unconscious. He had several dark bruises already forming on his face and arms. One of his eyes was swollen shut and blood coated his lips and chin.

Cadfael slipped off the satchel he carried and rummaged though it looking for the right supplies to clean the boy up. He found a clean cloth and some water and set about wiping the blood off his face so he could assess the damage. Next he took out an herb that would help with the swelling and pain.

The boy stirred and then in a panic jerked, shoving the monk away. "Its all right," Cadfael said soothingly. "I am cleaning your wounds."

"I don't need your help!" the boy spat out. "I don't need anyone's help." Some blood from a cut above his right eye trickled down his cheek.

"At least let me take care of that," Cadfael indicated the cut.

"No!" The word exploded from the gypsy's mouth. Almost to no one in particular he added, "They are going to pay for what they did." With that he turned on his heels and ran toward Shrewsbury.

Cadfael stood awkwardly, as his legs had started to fall asleep from kneeling on them, to stare after the boy with a worried and puzzled frown.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: The Gypsy's Curse**

**Based on the books by Ellis Peters and the TV show.**

* * *

><p>Chapter Two<p>

Cadfael was up early in the morning attending to his garden before Prime. He enjoyed working in the garden, but was often covered in dirt when he hurried to join his brethren in service. Today was no exception when he realized he was cutting it close as he hurried to the small but affective church for the community.

Prior Robert gave him an angry look as he slid to a halt in front of his chair just as they started singing. He didn't blaim the prior since this did seem to becoming a habit. He'd have to keep a better eye on the time, but unfortunately, when ever he was out amongst nature his mind tended to wander as he reflected of the goodness of God and His creation. Slightly out of breath, it took some time before Cadfael was able to join them in raising his voice to praise the Lord.

Finally as the scripture was being read, the monk was able to close his eyes as the sub-prior droned on in a monotone voice. He reflected on how he missed Brother John's reading. It had been exuberant and kept him awake during the otherwise tedious part of the service.

Suddenly he became alert when Prior Robert said, "Brother Cadfael, I do hope you are not sleeping during our dear brother's reading."

Cadfael smiled and leaned forward into the light so the prior could see his wide vigilant eyes. "I am indeed listening. Brother Jerome was just reading the part of John the Baptist saying he is unworthy to lace the sandals of our Savoir." Prior Robert looked surprised and a little embarrassed, and even Cadfael astonished himself as he had not been listening at all, and judging by the prior's expression he had guessed the right passage. God must be looking out for him.

"That is enough, Brother Robert, "Abbot Radulfus admonished, leaning back in his chair. "I will see you after Prime, continue Brother Jerome." With a nod the brother continued reading. When no one was looking, the Abbot cast a curious glance at Cadfael, who had drawn back and let the shadows hide his face once more. Cadfael made sure to stay awake after that. No sense in tempting God twice in one day.

When Prime ended, the Welsh man found himself in his gardens once more with Brother Oswin helping. The young man seemed unusually subdued this morning and he thought about asking him what was the matter. Before he could approach the subject; however, Oswin said, "Brother Cadfael, may I have the day off from helping you to attend to some of the lepers in St. Giles? I promised them I would be there and forgot to secure your permission first."

"Well, if you promised then I see no reason why you should not be excused, but I expect you to pick up the pace tomorrow."

Oswin grinned showing most of his teeth. "Thank you, Brother Cadfael. May I go now?"

"You may." The younger man bounded away and quickly gathered his supplies before setting off at a fast pace. The elder watched him go and smiled at his enthusiasm.

* * *

><p>Conan strode into the tavern angrily, knowing that the two boys who jumped him last night were inside. He found them at a corner table with two others. When Gawain spotted him, he grinned. "Well, look what we have here. Did you come back for more?" he smirked at the various bruises and the black eye.<p>

Conan glowered at him. When he had finally shown up where his family were camped just outside of town, Omar had been livid at him for being out so late, and seeing the mess his son was in hadn't improved his mood. He had wanted to leave before the sheriff came to arrest them, but Annabel pleaded with him to stay. She promised that Conan would behave for the duration of their visit and gave him a meaningful look.

He on the other hand had no intentions of behaving. Conan planned to teach them a lesson, or at least get in a few good punches. "Let's step outside," he demanded angrily.

"What ever you have to say, gypsy, can be said here," Alan sneered. The hot blooded boy did not answer, instead he lashed out and punched the young man in the face. The other three boys immediately jumped to their feet and rushed at Conan. He was pummeled on all sides and getting in a few good hits himself when he was suddenly picked up and pulled away from behind.

"That's enough," said the tavern keeper. "I don't want any trouble in here."

"You're going to pay, gypsy!" Gawain spat out blood.

"No," Conan said with clenched teeth. "You are." Alan tried to rush him again, but he was pulled back by some one in the crowd gathered around them.

"Get out now!" The tavern keeper shoved Conan out the door. He stood there and made sure the boy could not come back in. "We don't want your thieving kind here. If you know what is good for you, you and your family will leave town now."

"We will stay wherever we wish to stay," Conan replied hotly. He glared at everyone who had crowded around to see the commotion. "All of you will pay for treating me and my family this way. Anyone I hate dies!" With that he turned on his heels and ran off in the direction of the Abbey.

One old man with an eye patch and a withered leg, held up a rosary from around his neck as if to ward off evil. "The gypsy has put a curse on us!" he wailed. A few of the townsfolk started and gave the man wary glances. They began talking uneasily among themselves and dispersed to go back to their ordinary lives, but the old man's words kept echoing in their minds.

* * *

><p>"They will see," Conan muttered to himself. "They all will. The curse has never failed me and it won't fail me now." The young boy was in such a blind rage he did not notice where he was going and bumped into some one with enough force to knock both parties down.<p>

"I do beg your pardon," the tall gangly man in monk's clothes apologized. "I should have been paying more attention to where I was going." The monk reached for his scattered belongings and quickly put them back in his sack. Conan watched him without offering to help. He stood and crossed his arms.

When the monk straightened up he did not quite meet his eyes and the gypsy had to smirk at that. The awkward fellow was nervous of him. As well he should be. The monk attempted to give him a friendly nod and walk around him casually.

"Yes you should have," Conan said watching the man's reaction closely. His fingers itched to release all the anger he felt and punch this supposed holy man. They already condemned him to hell because of his heritage, why not give them a real reason to damn him?

The monk halted and peered at him over his shoulder. "I'm sorry?"

"You should have watched where you were going." The man jolted and the fearful look returned to his eyes.

"Yes well, I am sorry for running into you." He took two steps away and tried to act polite but in a hurry, which he probably was. Conan didn't care because he just wanted to fight.

"Aren't you going to tell me how worthless my kind is?" he asked, stepping closer and letting his hands fall to his sides, balling them into fists.

The monk's Adam's apple bobbed up and down. "Why would I do that?" his voice cracked.

"Because you're a _monk_. They always tell me and my family we are worthless and run us out of town."

The man gulped. "I really have to go." He turned on his heels and ran toward the edge of town. Conan sighed in frustration. His plan to stir the monk up hadn't worked one bit. Angrily, he kicked a loose stone and continued storming down the road, scowling at anyone he crossed paths with. The curse would work. It always did. He would just have to learn patients and wait. All good things happened to those who wait.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: The Gypsy's Curse**

**Based on the BBC TV show and books by Ellis Peters**

* * *

><p>It was in the middle of the night. A lone owl hooted somewhere in the nearby trees.<p>

A lone figure walked near the creek leading to the Abbey's Mill until it came into sight. He shivered and pulled his robe closer around him. The moon slid behind the clouds, obscuring his face from view.

The figure stopped and stared at the mill for a few seconds before giving a frustrated sigh. "I have gone the wrong way," he murmered to himself. "The roads all look alike in the dark."

A tree branch cracking, startled the man and he shivered again, this time with fear. His head swiveled from side to side before taking a hesitant step backward. He seemed reluctant to give the mill the back.

Another tree branch cracked and he screamed, dashing away. In his fear he did not notice his feet carrying him to the mill until he tripped over something. his hands groped the thing he tripped over and froze.

It felt like a body.

The clouds parted once more and the body of Alan was revealed.

Brother Oswin shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming again.

* * *

><p>"What do you think, Cadfael?" Sheriff Beringer asked the monk.<p>

Cadfael stared at the prone corpse intently. There was a crease in between his eyes. His light blue eyes took in the three boards lying next to the body and saw that blood was on the nearest one. There was also a spot of blood on the ground next to the head and the monk wondered about it.

"It would appear that someone hit Alan with the board over there, using enough force to split his head open. The boy died, bleeding to death."

"That would be my assumption too. And I think we know who did it."

"You do not know that," Cadfael cautioned. "It could have been anyone. I know Alan and he had many enemies as I recall."

"One of them being the gypsy boy," Beringer argued. "He was witnessed in the tavern making threats toward the boys."

"I am not entirely dismissing him, only cautioning you to not jump to conclusion. We need more evidence to prove his guilt or innocents."

"They came into our town and a murder happened. What more evidence do you need?"

Cadfael sighed and shook his head sadly.

His eyes roamed over the the dead body again, noticing the left hand clenched in a tight fist. The other was not.

It was peculiar enough for the monk's sharp gaze to notice.

He stretched his arm to reach the hand and pried the fingers open revealing a crumbled slip of paper.

Cadfael smoothed out the paper and saw a hurriedly scrawled handwritten message.

_Meet at the Abby Mill twelve midnight_

"Do you recognize this handwriting?" Cadfael passed the parchment to him.

Hugh stared at it before finally shaking his head. "I have not seen many of our townspeople handwriting, so I would not know."

"Hmm," Cadfael stared at it thoughtfully.

"What do you make of it?"

"It was written by someone who is not skilled in writing. Notice how the words are shaky and abbey was mispelled."

"But it must have been written by someone he knows. Alan does not seem the type to do as a note tells him without knowing who it from."

"You are right," Cadfael agreed. "The paper is torn near the bottom. I surmise that is where the name was."

"Then the murderer tore the part with his name on it to leave no traces of himself."

"Perhaps," the monk continued to frown. "Though that doesn't make much sense."

"What do you mean?"

"If the murdered wanted to dispose of evidence why would he tear off the part with his name in it and not just take the whole note?"

"Yes," Hugh stroked his chin thoughtfully. "That is unsual. Why would he do that?"

"It's a false trail," Cadfael whispered with sudden realization.

"Oh?"

"The real murderer is placing suspicion on another."

"But wouldn't he have kept the note in tact so we would know who the supposed murderer is?"

"Not necessarily. Whoever really killed Alan is cunning and probably knew that we would be suspicious of a message on a dead body with a name in it."

"Not me," Hugh said. "I would have thought it quite a break for me."

"But not for me."

"Then this person would have to be someone who knows that you often assist me with some of my cases?"

"Perhaps."

"Then that would eliminate the gyspies," Hugh said grudgingly.

"Maybe or maybe not. I suppose they could find out about it."

Hugh grunted.

He waved his deputies forward to collect the body.

Cadfael fell into step next to the sheriff as they followed the creek back to the crossroads.

"I want to question Brother Oswin further. Do you think he has calmed down now?"

"Most likely. I gave him some herbs that would calm him down and he should be by now."

"I hope they do not wear off before I get back."

Cadfael chuckled.

* * *

><p>"How did you find the body?"<p>

Oswin twitched slightly and glanced at Cadfael who gave him an encouraging nod.

"Uh, well, I left St. Gile's hospital later then I intended. By the time I came to the crossroads I became confused which way to go. The moon was behind the clouds and I read the signs wrong. I ended up at the Abbey Mill and would have turned back but I heard a noise. In my haste to get away, I tripped over A-a-a-the b-body."

"The body was right by the mill. Did you not notice where you were before you were that close?"

Oswin blushed. "Well, I-I may have run in the wrong direction."

"After you discovered Alan what did you do?"

"I was stunned. I don't know how long I was there before I finally ran all the way back the the abbey and woke up Brother Cadfael."

"Did you notice anything out of the ordinary?"

"How do you mean?"

"Did you hear anyone near by? See anyone? Anything you normally wouldn't see?"

Oswin thought for a moment. "I-I did hear a twig or two snap before I found the b-body, but nothing else."

"Did it sound like an animal?"

"I-I don't know."

"What position was the body?"

"It-it was-he was-" Oswin gulped. "On his back."

Cadfael perked up at this last piece of news. "Are you sure Alan was lying in his back?"

Oswin nodded vigorously. "Yes. I remember because his eyes were staring at me."

"That would explain it then."

"Explain what?" Hugh asked curiously.

"The blood next to the corpse on the ground."

"Why didn't you draw my attention to this earlier?" Hugh said angrily.

"I do apologize. I thought you had noticed it."

Hugh just shook his head.

"That would mean the murderer was nearby and probably tore the end of the note when Oswin left.

The younger monk turned white. "T-t-the k-k-killer w-was t-there?" His Adam's Apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"You're right," Hugh whistled. "When Brother Oswin left, the murderer tampered with the note and turned the corpse over. Though, I do not understand that last part. Why would he change the position of the body?"

"That is an excellent question."

Thump!

"Oh dear," said Cadfael. "I do believe this has been too much on Oswin's nerves. Hugh, could you help me get him back on the cot?"

Hugh chuckled to himself and grabbed Oswin's feet as Cadfael wrapped his arms around the younger man's arms. They carried him to the cot.

"I would like to question that gypsy family next."

"Very well. They should be stationed outside the abbey. Abbot Radulfus has granted them permisson to stay there."

"Good. Then they are not far away."

Hugh followed Cadfael out of the room.

* * *

><p>"Where were you last night?" Hugh questioned Conan.<p>

"What do you mean?" the boy asked sullenly as he glared at the monk in front of him.

Cadfael wondered if the gypsy boy recognized him and that was why he regarded with such loathing or was it because he was in the monastery?

Hugh glared at Conan. "I mean where were you last night?"

"Is there some trouble, Sheriff?" Omar wiped his hands on a cloth. His eyes darted over to his son and narrowed suspiciously.

"I am asking your son a few questions and I will need to ask you and the rest of your family as well."

"Has something happened?"

"There has been a murder of one of the local boys."

"And you immediately think of us?" Anger colored Omar's tone.

"I have heard several witnesses say that your son threatened two boys in the tavern yesterday. One of them is dead."

Cadfael saw a brief flash of something in Conan's eyes before it disappeared. What had been that emotion? It was too fleeting for Cadfael to know for sure, but it had almost looked liked triumph. If the boy had killed Alan, why would he look so excited?

"I didn't kill him!" Conan said hotly.

"I did not say you did," Hugh replied evenly. "You have yet to ask my question."

"He was here. We all were," Omar answered

"Your wife and daughter will vouch for you two?"

"Of course they will. We were here all night until the sun rose and we rose with it to begin selling our wares."

Hugh looked over at Conan. "Is your father speaking the truth?"

"Did you not hear what he said? Of course he is!"

"Mind your manners, boy!" Omar cuffed Conan on the head.

"What is your name?" Hugh asked the young man.

"Conan."

"Conan. I was told by Brother Cadfael that he found you the day before yesterday, being beaten by the same young men that you threatened later."

"So?"

"So, that would be motivation enough to harm them."

"I didn't kill him. How many times do I have to say that?"

"I think you better leave," Omar said, his lips tightened in displeasure."

"Very well. Do not leave town." Sheriff Beringer bowed, then he and Cadfael began walking back to the abbey.

"What do you think, Cadfael."

"Omar was lying about Conan being there all night."

"You are sure?"

"Yes. His eyes shifted about as he was telling you this. A sure sign that he was either nervous or lying."

"Should I question the boy further without his father?"

"Do what you think best."

"I would like to question the mother and daughter. Where would they be?"

"We have given them permission to wash their clothes near the river by my garden. I believe they would be there."

Hugh nodded. "Very well."

"After the gypsies, who else do you plan to question?"

"Gawain. He was Alan's brother and close friend, I imagine he may have some information."

"He may at that." Secretly, Cadfael wondered if Gawain would accuse Conan of the murder solidifying Hugh's mind of the guilty person being the gypsy boy. He was not entirely dismissing the possibility, but there was something out of place and he could not put his finger on it. He was driving him to distraction.

They found the two gypsy women at the back of Cadfael's shack, scrubbing their clothes with soapy water that they had drawn from the river. When the young girl saw them, she put down her scrub board and straightened up, wiping her hands dry with her apron. The older woman froze when she saw them.

Cadfael could tell at a glance that she was not right in the head.

"How may I help you?" the girl asked politely.

"What is your names?" Hugh asked.

"I'm Annabel and this is my mother, Thersa."

"Was your father and brother with you the whole time last night?"

Annabel tilted her head and squinted first at him, then Brother Cadfael. "Yes," she said with some hesitation. "Has something happened?"

Cadfael watched as Thersa's eyes darted around before landing on him. He noticed that in spite of her condition she managed to keep scrubbing the clothes, though some what stiffly. He recognized the disease immediately and figured she was in the earlier stages of it. He was saddened at the thought that a creature of God had to suffer so.

"You are sure they were with you the whole night?"

"Yes," Annabel replied in a firmer tone.

"There has been a murder and your brother is one of the suspects."

Cadfael found it intriguing that Annabel's face immediately closed off. "My brother didn't do it."

Hugh did not respond to that. "What was the name of the last town you visited?"

"Petersville. It is about twenty-five miles from here."

"Yes, I know of Petersville. If I went there would the townsfolk remember you."

"Probably." A sliver of emotion flickered across her face before she settled back into her mask.

That was definitely fear.

Hugh looked over at Thersa. "Ma'am, do you also agree that your husband and son were with you all night?"

Thersa nodded.

"Would you say that your son has a bit of a temper?"

Thersa looked over at Annabel.

"My mother doesn't like to talk," she explained.

"Will you answer the question?"

Annabel hesitated again before nodding. "Yes, he does."

"Would he get mad enough to kill someone?"

Both women looked upset at that.

"Perhaps we should leave them to their laundry," Cadfael suggested quietly.

Hugh looked over at the monk. "Very well. We may have more questions for you later."

The sheriff waited until they were out of earshot before he frowned at his friend. "Why did you interrupt my investingation, Cadfael?"

"They were becoming upset about you inquiry."

"And?"

"You were close to accusing them of lying."

"They were! Did you not see how the girl hesitated when I asked her if her father and brother had been with them all night?"

"I saw. But pursuing that line of thought right now will only aggravate them. In due time it will be revealed that they had lied and they will have no choice but to tell us the truth."

Hugh frowned, but didn't argue. "Did you notice something wrong with the mother?"

"She has a muscular disease," Cadfael said. "Early stages by the look of it. Her hands were a little stiff and I don't think she is of sound mind."

"Is that what is wrong with her. How could you tell she had a muscular disease."

"I have seen it before in early and late stages."

"Is there a cure?"

"I am afraid not. I have some herbs that I could give her that would prolong it though."

"Perhaps you should mention it next time."

Cadfael hummed in response.

"Come. Gawain and his father are next."


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: The Gypsy's Curse**

**Based on the BBC television program and books by Ellis Peters.**

* * *

><p>Cadfael found himself sitting at a rough hewn table in a quaint kitchen with a fireplace and shelves stocked with several spices. Across from him and Sheriff Beringer, sat Gawain and Bofar, the blacksmith. Both men had red rimmed eyes, though tried to hide it.<p>

"When was the last time you saw your son?" Hugh asked.

Bofar coughed, before looking the sheriff directly in the eye. "At dinner time last night, then he said he had to go out and not to wait up for him since he would be late."

"Did Alan routinely stay out late at night?"

"Not routinely, no, but he has done it before."

"And did you ever worry about him?"

"No, not really," Bofar nearly choked up at that. "Though I suppose I should have." He stared at the sheriff angrily. "Why are you asking me these questions when you should be putting that gypsy boy in jail?"

"You mean, Conan?"

"I don't care what his name is! I want him arrested!"

"How do you know of him?"

"Gawain told me of him and how that gypsy attacked them in the tavern yesterday!"

"Did Gawain also tell you how he and Alan jumped Conan in the dark the night before last?" Cadfael questioned angrily.

Bofar looked at his son to confirm that fact.

"He's lying!" Gawain turned red in the face.

"Are you calling a man of God a liar?" Hugh said quietly.

"No, I-"

"Then did you or did you not attack Conan that night before your brother's murder?"

"Well, we may have roughed him up a bit, but-"

"Do you call several bruises, a deep cut on the forehead, and a black eye roughing up a bit?" Cadfael interrupted, barely concealing his fury.

Sheriff Beringer nudged his foot under the table to get the monk to calm down.

"Does it matter?" Bofar asked. "Gypsies are the scum of the earth and deserve whatever we give them."

Cadfael was about to heatedly argue when Hugh asked another question.

"Did Alan mention getting a note before he left?"

"A note?" Bofar frowned. "No. Should he have?"

"No, I suppose not." Hugh glanced over at Gawain. "You were Alan's closest friend, correct?"

"Yes." Gawain looked a little nervous.

"Did he tell you about the note he received from someone telling him to meet this person at the Abbey Mill?"

"N-no." Gawain's gaze wavered before finally settling firmly on the sheriff.

"Your brother is your best friend and he did not tell you of the meeting he had late at night?"

"No, he didn't."

"Why not?"

"Maybe it was from a girl and he didn't want me to interrupt them?"

"Was there a girl he was interested in?"

Gawain gave a short laugh before glancing at Cadfael and sobering quickly. "Yes. He liked several girls."

"In Shrewsbury?"

"Yes."

"Any interested in him?"

"Yes."

"Names?"

Hannah and Alaine were interested in him a lot and he encouraged both, but prefered Alaine more."

"Why?"

"Because she was prettier."

Cadfael made sure to keep his face blank, but was disgusted with the boy in front of him as well as the dead one for having such shallow feelings.

"I will be sure to talk with them about the note."

"When are you going to stop talking about this note and arrest that gypsy boy?" Bofar asked.

"I do not plan on arresting him," Hugh replied. "At least not until I have sufficent evidence against him."

"He's a gypsy! That should be proof enough."

"There are other suspects, do you wish me to arrest them as well?"

"What other suspects?"

"Gawain, for one."

"What?" Gawain shouted in outrage. "Why me? I'm Alan's brother!"

"Brothers have killed each other before now." Hugh slid a slip of paper toward the boy. "Would you mind writing something down for us about the Abbey Mill."

"Why?"

Hugh did not reply, only waited.

"Are you wanting to compare my handwriting to that on the note?" Gawain gritted his teeth.

"If you are innocent then you have nothing to hide."

"Did you make the gypsy boy do this?"

Hugh again did not reply.

"All right!" Gawain said angrily and found an inkwell, scrawling furiously on the parchment, thrusting it toward the sheriff.

Hugh calmly picked it up and looked at it before folding it in half. "I suppose that is it for now. Good day."

The sheriff and Cadfael stood and showed themselves to the door.

"Well?" Cadfael asked.

"It's not a match," Hugh said and gave the parchment to him.

Cadfael's eyes scanned the paper. "Abbey is spelled correctly, though I do not particularly like the insult."

"Yes. Sorry about that. I would have wrung his neck if his father hadn't been there."

"It does not matter," Cadfael waved his hand to dismiss it. "Did you notice that he lied about knowing of the note?"

"Yes, I did."

"What do you suppose he is hiding?"

Hugh shrugged. "Possibly the person who wrote the note."

"Hmm," Cadfael frowned. "Why did you not test Conan and his family?"

Hugh looked slightly embarrassed. "It didn't occur to me until now."

Cadfael hid his smile. "Perhaps we should part ways here. I have some things I must attend to at the abbey."

Hugh nodded. "Let's meet up later today and compare our thoughts. I am sure that whatever you are doing you will be thinking about this mystery."

"Very well."

With that the two men parted ways.

* * *

><p>"What have you done, boy?" Omar growled.<p>

"It is the curse, father," Conan said haughtily. "Everyone I hate ends up dead."

"By your hand?"

Conan looked slightly shocked. "Of course not! I do not know how they die, but they always do."

Omar reached over and grabbed his son by the front of his shirt. "Lord help me, I swear, if I find out that you are behind all these murders that follow us, I will cast you out of this family. I have half a mind to do so anyway."

"Maybe I'll leave," Conan said angrily. "At least then I won't have to see the disappointment in your eyes everytime I don't meet your expectations!"

"If you want to leave then that is fine with me! With you gone I won't have to worry about sheriffs breathing down my neck and watching my every move."

Conan stared at his father with hate filled eyes. "You will always be looked down upon because you're a gypsy!"

"I'm a Welshman!"

"Perhaps you should take that earing out of your ear then!"

Omar stared at the boy before calmly reaching up to take off the earing and placed it on the counter in front of them. "You are no son of mine. Do as you will, only get out of my home."

"Gladly!" Conan stomped out of the caravan wagon and ran down the street. In his blind rage, he didn't see where he was going and knocked into someone. A sense of Dé jà vu washed over him.

"Ho there, young man!" Strong hands steadied him and he looked up to see the sheriff and stiffened. "Where are you going in such a hurry?" The man's eyes studied him minutely.

"No where...sir," he said cautiously.

"Hmm, I was on my way to see you again. It is fortunate we crossed paths."

Conan's heart sped up. He was going to arrest him, wasn't he? The sheriff pulled out a parchment. "Might I have the use of one of your quills? I need you to write something down for me."

Conan shifted on his feet nervously and the other man noticed.

"Is something the matter?"

"I can't write," he mumbled quietly.

"I see," the sheriff replied in an even tone. "What of the rest of your family? Can they write?"

"Only my sister. My father and I have no use for writing and my mother...she is not well, sir."

The sheriff appeared to be thinking very hard as he frowned. "Stay close to the abbey," he warned before continuing down the street.

The moment he could, Conan took off toward the abbey, knowing that his sister would still be there. He found her with the nosy monk. They looked to be deep in discussion about something and he had a feeling he knew what it was about. He caught Annabel's eyes and motioned her over.

After making her excuses, she left the monk and walked over toward him. He caught a look of apprehension and fear on her face as she stopped in front of him. "Conan," she whispered. "This is the seventh time!"

"I know," he said. "I promise I didn't do it."

Annabel sighed. "I want to believe you, I really do, but how can I when everywhere we go, someone you argued with, dies?"

"It's a curse. After the third killing I knew it was a curse."

"A curse?" Annabel frowned. "Who would have cursed you?"

"I don't know," Conan shrugged. "And I don't want to know. This curse is working out for me."

"How could you say that? People are dying."

"Yes, but it's always the people that hate me because of what I am. This curse punishes them."

"Oh, Conan!" Annabel wailed. "Has your heart and mind become so twisted with hate as to believe that?"

"Aren't you tired of everyone looking down on you? I want to be recognized for what I am. Not a gypsy or a welshman, but a person."

Annabel looked over her shoulder at the monk who was attending his garden. "Talk to Brother Cadfael. He could help you, he would understand."

"A monk understand?" Conan spat out. "Men of the Church are the worst kind! He would not understand me nor would he want to."

"Brother Cadfael is different and not like the other monks. He is not at all sure about your guilt and that is the only reason the sheriff hasn't arrested you yet."

Conan snorted.

"It's true. Brother Cadfael told me that while the evidence points against you, he does not believe you are the type to murder anyone. Please, won't you at least talk to him?"

"He'll probably try to get a confession out of me."

"He's a monk, not a priest, Conan."

"What's the difference?" he muttered.

"Please, Conan, talk to him. Convince him that you are not the murderer."

"Fine," Conan groused. "I will talk to him for your sake, but do not expect me to be pleasant."

Annabel broke out into a smile and Conan couldn't help feeling a little better. He didn't like the idea that his sister didn't know whether to believe his innocence or guilt. Perhaps talking with the monk would be a good idea.


End file.
